by Jayce Ellis
“Marcus?”
Fucking hell, Marc, get it together.
“Sorry, Mom, just thinking.” I looked around the living room and back at them. “I guess I was goin’ to make something to eat if y’all want anything.”
Mom’s nod was immediate. “Yes, please. French toast if you got it.”
I walked off toward the kitchen, ignoring the low whispers behind me. Then, “Marcus,” Dad said, “you didn’t go to school to be a maid. I’d rather go out and eat than have you in that kitchen cooking for us.”
“I’m not,” I said, hoping my words sounded indifferent and not tight. “I’m cooking for myself. Y’all just happen to be here.”
“How ’bout you take a day off? DC on the weekends has brunch spots, right?”
“Maurice, he’s already started. Why don’t you sit back and relax?”
Dad didn’t feel like going anywhere, I knew that. He’d be content to sit on the front porch with a beer all day, week, month, year long. He just didn’t want me in the kitchen. It reminded him that he rarely helped out, and I’m sure brought up memories of the arguments about me being up under Mom’s skirt when I was a kid. Lord knows it did for me.
Mom was the social butterfly who loved to show off her only child’s accomplishments, often inviting her local sorors over to our house for brunch, with me as the cook. That was one of the bigger fights I remembered—Dad cussing up a storm over it. Dad rarely cursed, so it was seared in my brain. It’s like, once he knew I was gay, everything I did had to be super masculine to compensate for that flaw. Or something. His late attempt to push me into sports failed miserably, but I did follow his advice on college majors and go into finance. Not that I had any better ideas myself.
I couldn’t see them from the kitchen, but it had gone quiet, and the house fell into an uneasy silence for a few minutes while I cut the bread and made the batter. Then, “So Marcus, tell me about your internship.”
Dammit, Dad.
Hesitantly, I told them about the new project and what was expected. As I anticipated, they were excited about the prospect of working for a major client like the Penningtons, but not so much about the three weeks out of the office to work with a small firm. Mom hummed, not the good kind, the kind that reverberated with displeasure.
“Marcus, are you sure this is what you want to do? To work for a company that would pawn you off on somebody else for close to a month? That just doesn’t seem like the start of a solid relationship to me.”
“It’s fine, Mom, I promise. This gives me an opportunity the other interns don’t get, to know in depth what it’s like to work on both sides of the aisle. I’ll probably be able to bring in even more clients, from all walks of life, by doing this.” I couldn’t believe I was sitting here defending this idea. She’d said exactly what I thought, but agreeing with her? That was too much.
“Since when is that what you want? I thought you were going to Clarymore because you wanted the bigger, global, international prospects? Isn’t that the whole point?”
I didn’t respond, focusing all my attention on what I was doing. My ears pinged when I heard the scrape of the chair against the floor. “Marcus.”
“Yeah, Ma?”
“Marcus, look at me, please.”
I let the spoon clang against the bowl and winced before looking up. Mom’s face had tightened, and she was a minute away from telling me about myself for being disrespectful. Something in my expression must have stopped her, and I let out a long sigh. “What do you want me to say, Ma? That I hate this? That this is the last thing I want to be doing? We all know that. But what I look like turning down the opportunity to be part of a major partnership because I can’t do it the way I want?”
“Can’t you talk to Harold? Surely he’ll be able to assign you to something else.”
Harold had been the only Black person I’d interviewed with, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure he actually liked me. He’d said even during the interview that I was a bit too narrow-minded, so I couldn’t imagine him riding to my rescue. Beyond that, I didn’t want to be that guy who used his connections to get out of something distasteful.
I shook my head. “It’ll be fine, Ma. It is a good experience, and I’ll make sure whoever I’m working with wins.”
Mom laughed, her humor momentarily restored. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Dad came over then, craning his neck and peering into the kitchen. “For all the chatterin’ y’all are doing, we could’ve been out and served by now. If you insist on cooking, then I insist on eating.”
I stared at him for a second before I recognized his words as a way out. I took it with a grateful nod and finished breakfast. And while he didn’t directly compliment me, Dad damn sure finished every bite. I’d take it.
André
I was about sick and tired of this damn office. I’d spent fourteen hours here Saturday, then gotten my behind back up this Sunday morning to be here for eight. Now it was one, and I was done.
It wasn’t unusual for me to work on the weekends. I always took one solid day off, and then worked half a day the next, typically Sunday afternoons while watching the games. It was a good time to do admin, the stuff I didn’t want to be bothered with during the week, the stuff that made the business an actual business. But that was from the comfort of my couch, in some shorts, and was fairly low-key. This weekend had all been prep, not a stitch of administrative work to be found, which meant I still needed to go back home and do that, if I didn’t fall face-first on the bed. The Metro was thankfully uneventful, but I groaned when I walked in the front door. Fiona, all business at the office, was wearing a sundress and sandals, her hair in its naturally tightly coiled state, waving her hands wildly while she talked to Mr. Johnson. The sight of him made me tense. Did he think anything of me after having seen me on what was clearly a booty call? Would he look at me weird from now on?
“Dre Bae!” Fiona called out when she spotted me.
I swear fo’ God I hated that nickname, but her unstoppable force had long since crushed my immovable object on the subject. At least she didn’t use it at the office, though she’d threatened to more than once. I gave thanks for small blessings.
“Hey, honeycrisp,” I teased her, and laughed when she scrunched up her nose. She was down with Fiona Apple comments, which came directly after the wow-I-didn’t-know-you-were-Black comments, but apple was so boring. I switched up the type whenever I saw her at the complex.
She punched me lightly on the shoulder, then tugged me forward. “You’re working too hard,” she said, gripping my chin with her hand and turning my face left and right. “You’ve got bags under your eyes, they’re getting dark. And when was the last time you gave yourself a facial?”
I raised a brow. “Um, never?”
She shook her head. “You men. So manly. Mr. Johnson, what am I going to do with him?”
“Far be it for me to get involved in the lives of grown folks,” he said, spearing me with a look. I dipped my head, but he laughed. “I mean that sincerely. If this man don’t want no facial, and I can’t say I blame him, then leave the boy be.”
Fiona’s exasperation was written clear across her face. “You’re no help,” she muttered, pouting the pout that probably got her anything she wanted. “I’m gonna drag you out after work one day to get a manicure.”
“That would require you to stay as late as I do.”
She shuddered. “Perish the thought.”
I laughed. As much as I usually enjoyed our banter, now wasn’t the time. I tried to untangle our fingers. “Fuji, I hate to duck and run, but I’ve got to be at the office bright and early in the morning, and I need to get going.”
“Nope. No way,” she said, squeezing my hand tighter. “That’s the only place I see you, and I know you’ve been burning the midnight oil getting ready for tomorrow. You’re going to walk with me down to t
hat party room and take a look at whatever’s going on down there. Some kind of apartment event or whatever.”
“Fiona,” I started, but she was already shaking her head.
“Ten minutes.”
In ten minutes I would have done absolutely nothing of importance, and she knew it. And this was how she always got me. Ten minutes turned to twenty turned to two hours. I looked over at Mr. Johnson. “Help me.”
He looked at me for moment before inclining his head toward Fiona. “Frankly, Mr. Ellison, I have to say I agree with the lady here. You look like you could use a good break, and this may be just what you need. Besides,” he said, leaning forward, his face wrinkling into a conspiratorial grin, “I have it on good authority that my Muriel will be down in around twenty minutes with some pie.”
I turned and grabbed Fiona’s wrist, marching in the direction of the event room, Mr. Johnson’s hearty laughter behind me.
“I will do just about anything for a slice of one of that woman’s pies,” I groused, like I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.
“You and me both.”
Crestline’s party room, with its geometric patterned carpet and bright white walls, tried to be appealing. But the furniture was old and bulky, and with the way people were standing crowded around tables, it looked more like a cafeteria line than anything else. One guy in particular, a light-skinned Black man with ripped jeans and a French braid halfway down his back, gave me a quick grin before turning back to his phone. If I hadn’t just had the best sex I could remember, I’d be tempted to try to talk to him.
“What is this?” I whispered, shifting my attention back to Fiona.
“Potluck,” she said with a grin. “I can’t wait.”
Yeah, I could. And look, I appreciated the sentiment, but unless I knew the person and had been in the kitchen before, I was eating no one’s food but my own. And Miss Muriel’s. It was a good thing I’d already had lunch. I patted Fi’s hand and pointed to a chair, where I parked myself.
Fiona returned with a plate piled high. “You sure you’re not hungry?” she asked.
“Positive, but thank you, Braeburn.”
For as gabby as Fiona was, she tended to be reserved around people she didn’t know. Right now, in a room full of strangers, she’d gone silent. And that silence next to me was actually quite comfortable.
She ate and I people-watched, until the door opened and a familiar figure stepped in. I kept my face neutral as he snuck up behind Fiona and covered her eyes with his hands. “Surprise, beautiful.”
Fiona grinned, scooched her chair closer, and leaned against him, and I fought the stab of jealousy at the sight.
Brian, I knew, was getting his MBA from George Washington and was interning at Clarymore & Toth. I hadn’t mentioned my connections with the place, either that I’d worked there or was considering partnering with them again. He seemed like a nice guy, but the lines around his eyes and his pained expression told me everything I needed to know about how his summer was going.
“How’s the internship?” I asked, in part to make conversation, in part because my ass was nosy.
He nodded. “Good. Long. I’m tired. Maybe need to get out my head a bit.”
That was the other thing I knew about Brian. While he and Fiona weren’t in a strict Domme/sub relationship, he was unabashed about his need for her to take control. There were times I could tell he was plugged by the way he walked, and the memory of him, beet red, and Fiona, coughing suspiciously loudly, from the clang of his cock cage when he brushed against the wall, would be forever seared in my memory.
Fiona reached over and stroked the back of her hand down his cheek. “I’ll take care of you.”
Brian took that hand and kissed her fingers, then held it securely in his lap. “You always do.”
Fiona dipped her head but didn’t say more, while Brian got comfortable and closed his eyes. And I was left alone with my thoughts.
When I’d come out to my parents, there’d been silence. A long silence, and then Pops shrugged and said, “As long as you’re the fucker and not the fuckee, I don’t know that I much care.” Mom sounded like she’d swallowed her tongue, but hadn’t argued or chastised him or...anything.
Then they’d called a family meeting. A full-on family sit-down so I could fumble through my words and watch my brothers stare at me like I had three heads while I tried to explain what I meant. What I was. After the initial wariness, they showed their support by ragging on me for absolutely everything, joking and teasing about who was the man in my relationships, all that shit I think was supposed to show they didn’t care, that they accepted me regardless. George, my younger brother by just under two years, was particularly relentless. Unfortunately, what I really took from it was that bottoming was somehow unacceptable, a bridge too far. It was ridiculous, I knew better, and it didn’t matter.
Because even at my big age, I envied folks like Brian, like Marcus, who were so clear about what they wanted and were unashamed of it. I’d spent two nights wishing we’d switched places, that I’d been the one spread out and bent over. Two nights fucking myself, wishing my fingers were his dick. Two nights wishing that tinge of guilt didn’t follow me after every climax.
The door opened and Miss Muriel poked her head through. I jumped up, Brian on my heels, and together we carried pies and what smelled like peach cobbler to the foldout tables lining one wall.
She patted my cheeks when me and Brian finished setting things up. “You know I can manage on my own, but I sure do appreciate the help.” She scooped out two heaping portions of cobbler, a good thing because the crowd had thickened behind us.
I stepped back and savored a bite. Brian had returned to the corner with Fiona, feeding them both from one plate. And that envy sharpened like a knife in my gut.
After Phil, I’d been deep in my keep-your-head-down-and-do-the-damn-job thing, and I had more of it to do when I got upstairs. But seeing them like this, relaxed and just enjoying each other’s company, knowing what would happen later? Yeah, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy it. Didn’t want a version of it for myself.
And wow, after four years of honestly not giving much of a fuck, this was the second time in two nights I’d had this thought, this loneliness crowding me where it hadn’t been an issue before.
“You all right over there?” Fiona asked as I made my way back.
“Yeah, I guess. Or I will be.”
She laid a hand on my arm and patted gently. “I know you have a ton to do, and I know I kept you from it by forcing you to come here. So I’m not going to keep you any longer. But Dre Bae?”
“Yes, Gala?”
She rolled her eyes and Brian laughed. “You work hard. Harder than just about anyone I know. But please, don’t stay up all night. Do whatever’s on your agenda, then lie down and get some rest. It’s obvious you need it, and we can’t have you wearing down. We need you.”
See? She was so stinking sweet, it excused just about everything else. I pulled her in for a quick hug and kissed the side of her head. “Promise I’ll go to bed as soon as the game is over tonight.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” She didn’t believe that for a minute, and I couldn’t blame her.
Chapter Five
Marcus
Monday morning came too damn soon, and I was ready for the day to be over at eight.
Yes, I was thirty minutes early. Which was entirely reasonable for my first day on a new job. And yes, maybe some of that was escaping my parents, who had decided to stay at the row house and relegate me to the couch for the weekend. But the core of it, I knew, was that I didn’t fucking want to be here. When I yanked on the door, only to find it locked, the irritation that had gradually been brewing boiled over. I smacked the wall next to me, then turned back to the elevator bank.
I hopped on and left the building, then ducked into the convenience
store at the corner. I didn’t need anything, but I grabbed an energy drink, my drug of choice. Clarymore & Toth was only a few blocks behind me, and that was where I should be. Not stuck here in a rinky-dink office that was trying to play like it belonged with the big boys and... Jesus Christ, I sounded like the uptight bougie motherfucker Jake always jokingly accused me of being.
I gulped down half my drink and checked my watch. Almost ten minutes had passed, and I headed back to the building. Supe claimed they wanted more than a grunt. How the fuck I was supposed to be that when I wasn’t there was beyond me. Apparently it was going to be on the strength of this project. And if I had to prove I was more than just a worker bee, it meant I couldn’t be surly Marcus. I had to be charming, at least enough to get through this and get my recommendation.
Those thoughts stayed front and center as the elevator crept back up to the ninth floor. The lights were on now, but my stomach plummeted when I walked in.
Ellison Financial Services wasn’t a suite within the building, but an office within a suite. There’d been no firm name etched into the glass, on a placard on the side of the door, anything. I should’ve figured it out before. No, this was one of those shared offices situation, where some people, I guess, reserved rooms as needed, while others kept a private office. They were cool for what they were, but I couldn’t imagine working for someone who wasn’t willing to shell out the dough to have a standalone spot.
“Can I help you?”
I hadn’t even seen the woman walk up. Black, with a fiery red fall that trailed into black at the bottom. Ombré, or whatever they called it. Dressed in a royal blue sheath dress and those nude stilettos that were really only nude for white folks, she was the epitome of sass. And she looked at me like she could squash me at any minute. I tried to put on my most winning face, one that hid my increasing dismay.